because now she could be truly effective in her attempt to help the injured.
Darth was manic until he was certain there were no more people in the burning Retainer's Hall. He had carried the last person out himself, a man who was his head grounds-keeper. The grounds- keeper had succumbed to the smoke after entering the building to rescue people one too many times. He was left coughing, but doing fine.
Darth had known as soon as he'd laid eyes on the blaze that there was no hope to save the hall. He'd immediately order people away, he wanted no further injuries in the attempt to save a lost cause. Now he turned his attention to the stables, issuing orders as he went. They had set up a temporary area for the injured by the well-house. How many were injured he did not know, but one look in that direction told him it was too many. Christ, one would be too many , he thought, scraping a hand though his sooty hair.
Chicery approached, as he asked, "The doctor?"
"No, my Lord, he has not arrived yet, but we have gotten a bit of heaven sent luck, Sir."
Darth's gaze swept the dozen or so bodies laid out, people in various degrees of injury. That was when he saw a small indistinct figure moving among the injured. Whoever the man was he seemed to have command of the situation, issuing instructions to two women by his side.
"Heaven sent," Darth mumbled absently, not really taking Chicery's meaning.
"It is the lady, my Lord. Miss Arabella, you said. She is a gift, and that is certain. Right to mending she has gone without a moment's thought. I hardly recognized her at first, but what does it matter what an Angel of Mercy is wearing, when faced with such a tragedy."
"Arabella?" Darth muttered, still not combining Chicery's words with the figure working among the wounded as he moved forward. Why had she not run? Why had Arabella not tried to escape his slavery?
"If we could keep Billy's arm submerged in cold water," Arabella explained to one of the women she had found trying to treat the wounded. "It would be better than this butter. A bucket would do. But it must be done quickly."
"I will bring it for you." Darth's deep voice came out of the darkness.
A voice Arabella would recognize anywhere now, as she fought her startled shiver, saying as firmly as she could. "Hurry, Darth." Then her attention returned to the boy with the severely burned left arm. His name, she'd been told, was Billy McFarden and he could be no more than Nicholas' age. Arabella lifted the boy's head to give him a drink of periwinkle tea mixed with ground willow bark, which would help alleviate the pain the boy had to be in. Even though he was putting up a brave front, she thought little Billy was in shock.
"All the way in," Arabella instructed Darth moments later, when he returned to her side with the bucket of cold water. She lifted Billy's arm carefully as Darth supported Billy's back with one hand and used his other hand to position the bucket.
"Miss? Miss? Peter the oxen keeper, over here, believes his arm is broken. Can you help? He's in an awful lot of pain, Miss?" Arabella swiped a hand across her brow and called out. "Yes, I will be right there."
Then she dared to look at Darth for the first time, who look as if he were Satan himself, with black soot covering his face and emphasizing his scarring. It was impossible to tell his temperament. "This water should be kept as cold as possible, Darth. Changing it every five minutes would not be out of order. Billy might get sleepily on you because I have given him something for the pain."
"I will see to it," Darth murmured, and with this reassurance Arabella rose fearlessly and went to see about the man named Peter with the broken arm. "Thank you, little dove." Darth's voice sounded out of the darkness behind her, and Arabella sighed in relief as she hurried forward. It appeared her dark master was not furious with her. She wondered fleetingly whether this could be a change in their unusual relationship.
Darth was manic until he was certain there were no more people in the burning Retainer's Hall. He had carried the last person out himself, a man who was his head grounds-keeper. The grounds- keeper had succumbed to the smoke after entering the building to rescue people one too many times. He was left coughing, but doing fine.
Darth had known as soon as he'd laid eyes on the blaze that there was no hope to save the hall. He'd immediately order people away, he wanted no further injuries in the attempt to save a lost cause. Now he turned his attention to the stables, issuing orders as he went. They had set up a temporary area for the injured by the well-house. How many were injured he did not know, but one look in that direction told him it was too many. Christ, one would be too many , he thought, scraping a hand though his sooty hair.
Chicery approached, as he asked, "The doctor?"
"No, my Lord, he has not arrived yet, but we have gotten a bit of heaven sent luck, Sir."
Darth's gaze swept the dozen or so bodies laid out, people in various degrees of injury. That was when he saw a small indistinct figure moving among the injured. Whoever the man was he seemed to have command of the situation, issuing instructions to two women by his side.
"Heaven sent," Darth mumbled absently, not really taking Chicery's meaning.
"It is the lady, my Lord. Miss Arabella, you said. She is a gift, and that is certain. Right to mending she has gone without a moment's thought. I hardly recognized her at first, but what does it matter what an Angel of Mercy is wearing, when faced with such a tragedy."
"Arabella?" Darth muttered, still not combining Chicery's words with the figure working among the wounded as he moved forward. Why had she not run? Why had Arabella not tried to escape his slavery?
"If we could keep Billy's arm submerged in cold water," Arabella explained to one of the women she had found trying to treat the wounded. "It would be better than this butter. A bucket would do. But it must be done quickly."
"I will bring it for you." Darth's deep voice came out of the darkness.
A voice Arabella would recognize anywhere now, as she fought her startled shiver, saying as firmly as she could. "Hurry, Darth." Then her attention returned to the boy with the severely burned left arm. His name, she'd been told, was Billy McFarden and he could be no more than Nicholas' age. Arabella lifted the boy's head to give him a drink of periwinkle tea mixed with ground willow bark, which would help alleviate the pain the boy had to be in. Even though he was putting up a brave front, she thought little Billy was in shock.
"All the way in," Arabella instructed Darth moments later, when he returned to her side with the bucket of cold water. She lifted Billy's arm carefully as Darth supported Billy's back with one hand and used his other hand to position the bucket.
"Miss? Miss? Peter the oxen keeper, over here, believes his arm is broken. Can you help? He's in an awful lot of pain, Miss?" Arabella swiped a hand across her brow and called out. "Yes, I will be right there."
Then she dared to look at Darth for the first time, who look as if he were Satan himself, with black soot covering his face and emphasizing his scarring. It was impossible to tell his temperament. "This water should be kept as cold as possible, Darth. Changing it every five minutes would not be out of order. Billy might get sleepily on you because I have given him something for the pain."
"I will see to it," Darth murmured, and with this reassurance Arabella rose fearlessly and went to see about the man named Peter with the broken arm. "Thank you, little dove." Darth's voice sounded out of the darkness behind her, and Arabella sighed in relief as she hurried forward. It appeared her dark master was not furious with her. She wondered fleetingly whether this could be a change in their unusual relationship.
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